4 The Ancient Axe
by Roztov
Summary: An old dwarf remembers old times


The barman, or more accurately, the bar-dwarf of the Old Goat Inn, of Stonebridge arrived later than he usually did.

He had been down to Blackforge to speak to the brewery. The non business talk he had heard had all been about the  
wayfarers camp further west. Dark talk of vampires and dark elves and worse in Lesser Faydark. Well, according to the  
talk in the village there was no end to the amount of adventurers willing to risk life and limb for the rewards that  
were offered at the camp.  
Once upon a time, he might even have been interested, he had wielded an axe once instead of an ale jug. He had been  
as far as Velious and had fallen in love with a young coldian lass. Those days were long gone now, and his current  
wife was, he was sure, more a harpy in disguise than a she-dwarf.

'Thank Brell, you lazy old sot!', she cursed him as he entered the inn, 'Here!'  
She removed her apron and threw it at him.  
'Where have you been all this time Jord? Never mind! I am going over to Leylas'

Jord grumbled something incoherent as his grumpy wife shut the door and walked up the road to her friends. Looking  
round he could see that the place was neither busy or quiet. There was a group of locals by the fire talking over village  
gossip. There was the two travellers that had come in this morning from the Faydark. And over at a table in one  
of the gloomy corners were some of the people from the tower.

As he served one of the locals, he looked them over. The old wandering spirit that still lurked somewhere inside him  
felt a feint twinge. They were all much younger than himself of course, and not many of them were dwarves, but he  
had grown to like and admire this set of people that had moved into the old tower the year before. He had got to know  
quiet a lot of them by name, although they mostly kept themselves to themselves.

His customer served, he started cleaning out flagons at the bar and his eyes wandered back to people from the tower.  
The first one he could see was a tall erudite, dressed in yellow robes. He knew him to be a wizard called Farek, and  
he seemed to be deep in conversation with a wood elf, his hands waving as if describing something.  
Jord knew this man was a fire worshipper, but didn't hold that against him. The only other wizard he knew was  
another erudite called Tuppence, a notorious book worm who would sometimes come to the inn to study if the tower  
got too busy. He wasn't in evidence at the moment though.

The wood elf Farek was talking to, he knew was Kindariel, the wife of the tower-folks leader. Their leader was a dwarf  
and although mixed race unions were not completely unheard of, in a small place like Stonebridge it would have caused  
quiet a stir had it been generally known. Jord knew, but he had seen stranger things than this in his long life,  
and he hadn't told a soul, especially not his nosey, gossiping wife.

He had, just to prove that it was a small world, heard of Kindariel by reputation, years before she had arrived  
in the village. It was hard to visualise this slight figure, currently dressed in forest green travelling clothes  
had earned the name of 'The Butcher of Crushbone' due to the amount of orcs she had killed after the death of  
her parents. She had used the darker nature of her magics, or so it was said in the east, to slaughter countless  
orcs, young and old, in her thirst for revenge.

Jord let out a little gasp as he noticed the person sat next to her. The elf, a high elf from Felwithe this time,  
was talking to the bearded human druid that Jord could never remember the name of, was none other than Ambrielle Aphaedra  
a wizard of such distinction the rumours and stories were simply incredible, if they were to be believed.  
It was said that the most powerful wizards and heroes of the day were now banging on the very gates of the gods  
in search of adventure and glory.  
Jord didn't have many people to talk with about such matters these days, but what stories he had heard from Tuppence  
and the hairy druid had made his days in the Eastern Wastes and Kael Drakkal seem like a stroll around the Misty  
Thicket by comparison.

Sat with their backs to him, Jord could see more of the party. Dressed in warm winter robes he recognised the  
figure of the human Assynt. Escaped from his wife for tonight Jord mused. There was another interesting match he  
thought, but the dealings of humans and halfling were of less interest to dwarves than their own business.

And there was young Karbonil, a Stumblefoot. Jord had sometimes wondered if he and the young dwarf might share  
some kinship somewhere down the line. Didn't he remember his grandmother saying that somewhere in the murky past  
her side of the family had been Stumblefoots? It wasn't that common a name and they were both worshippers of  
Brell. Still, he had not exchanged more than a few words with him as he didn't frequent the inn much.

Jord served another customer and when he looked back up he saw that a small hooded figure had entered the inn and  
walked over to were the others were sitting. She was followed, in a servile way, by another robed and hooded figure.  
She counted out some coins into he servants hand and sat with her friends.  
Her servant came across, ah thought Jord, I know this skinny manservant.  
The one that seems to find everything funny.  
'Hehehehe ... two ales for my mistress Diacarrea and I...', he cackled.  
'Certainly sir,', replied Jord, he always felt uneasy about this fellow, Goner, or whatever his name is.  
Jord drew off two large flagons of ale and handed them to the man in exchange for the silver.  
As an after thought he handed the man a bag of pork scratchings.  
'Here you are friend, on the house, looks like you could do with feeding up a bit.'  
'Hehehehhehe .. thanks!'

Jord shuddered at an unexplainable chill in the air and walked over to the fire to put more fuel on it.  
As he we crossed the room back to his chair by the bar, a large man ducked in through the short dwarven doorway.  
His head ducked down to avoid the beams in the ceiling and snow dropping from his shoulders, he hailed Jord and said  
'Bring me jug of ael Jord!'  
'A jug of eels?', Jord laughed in reply. He recognised the big man as Jalamu, a friendly barbarian from the north  
and probably the one person from this set of people he liked the most. He couldn't resist a making a little fun  
with his accent.  
'No, aael!', came the reply as he sat down by his friends, jostling the bearded human, making him spill some  
of his drink.  
'Watch it you big galloot!', the human cried.  
'I am no galtoot! I just want aaaaeeeellll!'

Jord smiled to himself as he drew off a heroic portion of ale from the barrel into the biggest jar he could find.  
These northerners had powerful thirsts. He sat it down in front of the barbarian who swiped it up and took several  
huge tugs from it, speaking into his drink,  
'Tis snwoing otuside.'  
'I can see that,', said the bearded human, wiping away the beer and snow that had landed in his lap at his  
friends arrival.

Jord sighed and sat down again at the bar. There were more pots to clean, but with his wife away he had no real desire  
to make work for himself.  
The night was starting to draw in, and he could see the snow was starting in earnest now, flopping against the windows  
in big lazy dollops.  
He was about to call the pot-boy to light more candles before he remembered the boy was at home with his head in a  
poultice after catching a nasty cold a few days ago. For the second time he sighed and went to get a match to stick  
into the fire.

As he approached the table with the adventurers at it, the hooded and robed lady said  
'No candles here thanks, we prefer the gloom.'  
The others nodded in agreement at this and went back to their conversation. As he want back to the bar  
he heard two snippets of the talk.  
'...the Vindicator...'  
'... he is too heavily guarded...'

It was a second or two before it registered with Jord what they were talking about. Kael Drakkal! With a flood  
all his memories of those times in his youth came back to him. Crossing the Eastern Wastes and the journey through  
the Great Divide. The mighty wurms that lived in the caverns there. The Coldian, and Lissa, the beautiful wench he  
had met in the town beneath the Crystal Caverns. And the fights with the frost giants. Those endless wars with the  
giants of Kael Drakkal, an age past, or so it seemed, but apparently the wars continued if what he had just overheard  
was true.

Now that he came to think of it, he couldn't remember when the last time those horse brasses by the door had  
been polished. Getting a cloth and some spirit from behind the bar he went over to inspect them. If he happened to  
be a lot closer to the adventurers and happened to be in hearing range...  
Well, that had nothing to do with anything.

He sat down in the corner of the room close to a lit candle and started to polish the brasses, gleefully eavesdropping.

He heard probably more than he would have wished to hear. As they talked, he heard of how strong the giants were. The  
band of heroes had penetrated right into the heart of the city and had fought and killed dozens of the fierce city  
militia and the protectors of zek. They had even challenged the Vindicator himself, but had been forced to retreat  
when more guards had arrived. This was certainly more than anything Jord had done in his day!

He spied something metallic in the corner, behind the old chair that sat here.  
'Brell!', he muttered under his breath, gathering dust behind the ancient wooden chair was his old war axe!  
He had wondered where that relic had gone, his wife must have hidden it there. Probably knowing I would never come over  
here for fear she would get me to polish all these brasses, curse her, he thought.

Well now, the brasses are done and while I have the polish... he reached behind the chair and pulled it out and up  
onto his knee. He applied some polish to the rag he was using and began to rub the tarnish from the blade.  
Under it all, the axe was still in good condition.  
The conversation of giant slaying and the smell of polish on metal took the old dwarf right back to somewhere he  
had not been in a long time. Tracking the eastern wastes, with his coldian comrades, fighting bitter battles, were  
crimson blood would fall onto the pure white snow. His blade biting into the knees of his enemies ...

'What are you doing you old fool!'

He cried out in alarm as his wife prodded him with an accusing finger.

'I was...'

'Thinking silly old dwarf thoughts by the look of it!', she chastised, 'And a mountain of dirty pots on the bar!'

'Yes..', he sighed and putting the axe down he stood up.

'And you can put that thing in the shed. Chopping wood it's all its good for!'

With his wife buzzing around his head like an angry hornets nest he lifted up the axe and went to the door.  
He caught the eye of the bearded druid who gave him a knowing smile. The barbarian raised his jar in salute.

When he reached the shed he found a sack to wrap the axe in and stowed it away behind the woodpile.

Rest their for now my friend, he thought, but there was a time when more than wood feared your edge, and the knees  
of giants knocked together at the very mention of Old Shinbiter!

Shrugging his shoulders up against the driving snow, he headed back to his inn.


End file.
